lifeofawillow

if i lack imagination,

or hope

or dreams

or clay,

to see the world in rainbows

in rain

in hugs

in may;

perhaps its due

to dues not mine

which i have had

to fill,

and pain in droves

littered in filth

heaped high upon

my sill.

yet still

in time

there ought to be

some space

to laugh out loud,

those belly laughs

you do so well

while i

still make you proud.

and there we sit

on bench bequeathed

by staunchly royal folk,

beneath peeled palm

or cedar wood

or perfect climbing oak.

so sit we there

small hand in large

two hearts that share

one beat

and think of old

and dream of new

where dreams of poets meet.

and there in breath

of sun and state

and oddly drawn horse,

slow breath gets drawn

in sweet success

and never ending

course.

cause here we are

the royal odd

of artists,

thinkers,

souls,

the ones that cry,

embroidered tears

love slowly

filling holes,

of deep neglect

and separatists

in worlds that cannot give,

perhaps its here

in small sweet steps,

where life begins

to live.

 

 

drunk.

im drunk.

and it doesnt matter.

i dont matter.

no one cares.

i dont care.

im like a stupid

w arpe d

tupperware

waiting to accept the next filling

of leftover slime

that no one

really wants..

and anyone can take.

and the cruel part isnt-

that im just

some receptacle

of disposable,

nasty,

interchangeable

poison..

its that

you put me here

and opened me up

to receive

that hell

of eternal

damnation

while you

wait

for nothing

and i get-

my

worth.

im so sad

like that sludge i imagined was real.

rolling down my arm

to my fingers where it dripped,

into thinned out bile

slowly emptied into clay-

while that hollowed out space

where the ruffled death grew

lay emptied

of pain,

of purple,

of you..

and not just of weight now;

but of possibility too..

and i lay here

slumped

in this decadent space

of a morbid fascination

with a life i cannot claim–

and my fingers tingle

and my heart beats too slow

and that pounding in my head

tells me

ill never know.

never know,

no i wont,

ill just wait,

ill just lay,

in a torturous bind

of impossible dreams

cause everythings

wrong.

and no one is brave.

and i

am

too

small.

too.

small.

to

smal.

to move,

this mountain,

alone.

 

 

i know who you are

i know what your worth

i know all you hide

and i know that you dont.

you deny your demons

you deny your bad

you deny yourself

you deny me love.

i see you though,

in a forest of lanterns

swung high from trees

with ivy and stone

in those foggy shots

you work so hard to find

and send

in a web

cause that is just you .

and that, love,

that,

that,

that!

is

love.

too.

yea.

it is,

it is.

yea,

it is.

it is.

but youll never see.

no, youll never see.

’cause you just cant look,

at the horror that is.

and you just cant look

at the mirror i hold.

and watch the burnt flesh

the dark eyes

you disdain,

the sad dreams you created

on that haunted warped stage…

and those lies,

that you tell,

those lies in your heart,

searing love

searing dreams

searing me

at my core..

cause all you are

is a bundle of

doubt;

petrified

terrified

horrified –

Without.

by the frightening strength

of your own

isolation…

in a cave of darkness

with the wrath of the weak

in nooks of lies

in a life yes! unlived;

not strong in self

not brave at all

not knowing who

to be.

and you cant breathe,

you

cant

~ breathe ~

youre not brave enough,

to breathe.

to be who you are.

to take what you want.

to shake all the trees

and leave.

-and so,

a beast

in painful ties

of muscled frenzy

comes out

at night,

when its dark

and its safe,

and you think that youre brave

cause no one can see

your shuddering form-

and you think that youre strong

cause no one holds on.

and you shrink

into nothing,

’cause nothing-

is safe.

and you lay there punching

in extreme defense

of the very thing

that makes you

you.

of the very thing,

that i know-

makes you,

-everything.

to be alone

in love and war

and all thats

in between

and never have

that soft sweet spot

where i am truly seen,

if ever i am

or ever i were

or might have ever been,

scarred sailed ship

sunk low in trench

original in sin.

And there in shadow

of deep regret

and ever stricken core,

where only young in fantasy

thought i

amount to more.

so lay i here

in dreams of death

beneath said cloud of lies,

with vacant heart

and placid mind

and bloody blinded eyes..

where hope has died,

and dreams decay,

and nothing ever grows-

and all i was ,

lays still to die-

in flattened

haunted

prose.

just shriveling up

falling away

losing myself

in this endless torrent

of cruel sharp hits,

against my spine

upon my heart

strangling my spirit

from the inside

throughout.

and my body

just shakes

the pain always there

unable to rest

cause my nightmares

are real;

and that wish that i had

that dream that was drawn

with colors borrowed

from another’s world,

has shriveled as well

with the rest of my heart

while the devils lies

come true

like a hug

that lasts a minute

and then is gone

like it never existed..

and all i am

is a small girl

alone

in a scary

empty

world

hiding

behind

everything

everyone else

thinks

is real.